


The Treatment of Light and Shade

by poisson (hotarumyst)



Category: Tales of Graces
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Classroom Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:49:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5665081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotarumyst/pseuds/poisson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asbel begins to think hot teaching assistants should be a requirement in otherwise impressively dull art history lectures. </p>
<p>Alternately, in which Asbel transfers to a new university, and Richard is his kinda-almost-professor. There's a bit of plot, if you squint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Treatment of Light and Shade

His Art History TA can't be _that_ much older than him, Asbel muses. It's a 1:30 lecture, meaning Asbel actually makes it to class every four out of five times, but the class being right after lunch guarantees that Asbel's concentration is about as far gone as Picasso in his later years (that's about all Asbel knows of art history, really). The attractive gentleman at the front of the room keeps Asbel more or less awake, but now he's not sure if daydreaming is any better than actually dreaming. Especially when his daydreams consist entirely of smooth blonde hair and long fingers pressing into his hips. Asbel shifts in his seat; the (appropriately) heated room is starting to feel more like a convection oven than anything else, and Asbel finds his gaze flicking longingly between the door and the clock and occasionally the hot TA.

"Don't get involved," Cheria had warned. "He probably has a nice girlfriend somewhere to go home to anyway." This was before Asbel had described him in alarmingly accurate detail and an increasingly dreamlike state to a miffed Cheria, though he could tell she was more amused than anything toward the end of it. “Long blonde hair, History major…you must mean Richard."

"God, he _would_ be named Richard," Asbel groaned with his head buried in his hands.

"I agree," Cheria said, her voice picking up in tempo as she went on, "Graceful, yet dignified." Cheria delighted herself in seeing Asbel suffer, though she’d usually make up for it in one way or another by the end of the week. "He was the RA of my floor last year. I think my roommate had a thing for him, too. Nice dude for putting up with her pestering for an entire semester. Pretty, but not my type." Cheria twirled her hair in her fingers, a habit she displayed whenever she was deep in thought. "He never showed much interest, though. Maybe you do have a chance."

"Thanks," Asbel said miserably.

By this point, Cheria was rolling her eyes at Asbel’s prolonged distress. Romance was occasionally a touchy topic for Cheria, especially between the two of them, though Cheria tried not to let it show. Asbel, as dense as he was, could at least pick up on that. "Tell you what, I'll dig up some dirt on him. I have connections. After all, I finally have the upper hand here," she said, leaning her head on her fingers laced together.

It was mostly true, though. After studying at a university across the country for two years, Asbel had just recently transferred back to a school near home, where Cheria had gone immediately after high school. His mother, whose health had taken a downward turn since Hubert graduated, spent most of her time between the hospital and their house, and Asbel had to be ready to reach her on a dime. Hubert had given him a lecture on it last time he'd called, and between the two of them, Asbel was the one unanimously voted to be sent back home, since Hubert had made it into one of the best schools in the country on an excellent scholarship, and Asbel was just drifting by, attending parties here and there, applying for 8-week internships which never really went anywhere beyond the eight weeks during which large corporations effectively used him for subpar indentured servitude. Cheria had two years’ experience in the area on Asbel. He wasn't entirely a party-animal, but he definitely wasn't used to feeling this alone, which was probably why he spent more time daydreaming about hot men than anything else.

Cheria had gotten over her crush on Asbel after graduating from high school, when Asbel, no longer having to worry about people from high school talking shit about him, came out to her as gay. "Not what I was expecting, but I guess it beats getting rejected for some other girl," Cheria said in response to Asbel’s rehearsed-a-hundred-times, nervous, private speech. Asbel just sighed and bit his tongue and decided not to push his luck.

She put on a smile and ignored him for the rest of the summer until he pointed out to her that she was the first one he'd come out to, even before his parents and Hubert, who’d left for his fast-track college program a week after graduation. "That's a pretty big thing," he'd half-stammered to a straight-faced Cheria. She'd stayed like that for about thirty seconds, frightening Asbel, then broke into a relaxed smile that was still tinged with the slightest sadness at what could have been.

"Hey, yeah, thanks for that," she said finally, tapping his shoulder. "Sorry for being a jerk."

Asbel’s mother had been supportive, and by the time Asbel told Hubert, Hubert’s emotional hands were full with some eccentric female lab partner of his who “is so smart, but behaves like such a _fool_ ,” so he couldn’t care less whom Asbel wanted to fuck around with in bed, which was all the better for Asbel.

That had been two and a half years ago, and Cheria promising to get the scoop on Richard had been about a week ago.

“Lhant.” A smooth voice jerks Asbel away from his nostalgia (which had been two steps away from becoming a roundabout sort of homesickness, so Asbel could say he’s grateful). A glance around the room notifies Asbel that everyone else has already left, and standing in front of him is none other than the aforementioned Richard Prettygoldenhair. “I have no qualms about having an exhaustive one-on-one discussion about why Titian’s use of _chiaroscuro_ distinguished him from the rest of his contemporaries, which I’m sure you picked up from your rapt attention to today’s lecture,” Richard is saying, and Asbel can't help but let Richard's fluid voice travel in one ear and out the other, the words becoming a garbled, meaningless monologue in his head, "but unfortunately there’s another class in here starting in thirty minutes."

“Yeah,” Asbel replies, his gaze darting down and hands splaying out onto his notebook, which only has the date and some scribbles that trail off into wobbly shapes written in it.

“Impressive notes,” Richard says, and Asbel, embarrassed, closes his hands into fists.

“Sorry,” Asbel says, and Richard laughs, his glasses glinting in the light from the door.

“I’m not angry, I was just toying with you.” He puts his weight on one leg, and Asbel’s quick to notice how Richard’s slim form seems to stretch on for days. “We TAs are used to it."

Asbel laughs, and Richard rewards him with a smile. “So, I, uh, might need help on that chiaroscopy thing…"

“Chiaroscuro,” Richard corrects, and Asbel grins at him sheepishly. “There are definitions online—it’s not exactly a _help_ sort of thing. This isn’t a math class, after all."

_Smooth_ , Asbel thinks, inwardly berating himself.

“Though if you’re interested in any other tutoring, my office hours are on Fridays from 4-6,” Richard adds, writing the location down on the corner of Asbel’s notebook. Asbel’s gaze immediately shifts to Richard’s long fingers once again, and Asbel flushes against his own will. “And by additional tutoring, I mean mainly essay writing, effective note-taking… I could even help with typing speed if that’s an issue for you."

“Oh,” Asbel says, trying to stifle any emotion (disappointment) from his voice. It comes out as a flat, awkward squeak. “Thanks,” he adds and stuffs his notebook into his bag, catching a page on the zipper and cursing under his breath. Richard’s shit-eating smile is even more fantastically infuriating on the way up, and when Asbel stands, he realizes that Richard has a good couple inches on him, and he wonders why he finds that so unbelievably hot, and wonders if he’s ever noticed having a preference for tall blonde men before, and notices that he’s been staring at Richard’s face for a good minute now. “Right, so. See you."

“In class on Monday,” Richard finishes easily.

“Or maybe sooner,” Asbel tries, and hopes it doesn’t sound too eager.

“That would be nice, yes,” Richard muses, waving leisurely.

—

“So then he gave me his office hours," Asbel continues.

"As he should've given everyone on the first day of class," Cheria points out unimpressed, sipping her tea with fingertips propped on both sides of the mug.

Asbel groans. "I may or may not have actually attended the first day of class."

"Yeah, that wasn't one of your better months," Cheria says, tapping her pen against her chin. "Well, anyway, I got you the good stuff." As she takes her laptop out of her bag, Asbel wonders what he'd done in a previous life to deserve a friend like Cheria, really. "Richard Windor, first-year grad student studying art history with a specialization in the European Renaissance. Undergrad in history and political science from somewhere else, so he's new here, too. You guys can have fascinating conversations about your newness."

"Don't remind me," Asbel says, and Cheria shrugs.

"You may not have much in common yet, but you never know. Plus, his poly-sci background might come in handy for your international relations or whatever major you have going on there."

"I'm crushing on him, not recruiting him for a job," Asbel says, sinking down into his seat.

Cheria laughs and navigates to Richard's Facebook profile. "Most of his stuff is private, besides his education and work. Profile picture is him alone, in front of a bridge or something."

"He looks great, but this is entirely unhelpful."

Cheria sighs. "What else did you want to know?"

"The pressing question?? The elephant in the room?" Asbel says, exasperated. " _Is he gay_?" He may have possibly said that a little too loudly, because now the entire cafe is staring at them, and the owner, Malik, who also bartends for the restaurant in the basement, snickers from behind the cash register. Cheria and Asbel frequent this cafe in their spare time, since it's between campus and their neighborhood. Asbel himself has become a sort of recluse, while Cheria spends her time on campus and fills her daily schedule with more obligations than Asbel has ever committed to in his entire life, so the cafe above Bar Tactics is a compromise.

"Honestly, I think you're better off just asking him at this point," Cheria says, examining her nails and leaving Asbel to stare at the picture of Richard smiling back at him, hair mussed and blowing in the wind and some novel, scenic vista behind him that pales in comparison to his utter regality, for lack of better descriptor. "I mean it's not like you're particularly… _gay_ either," Cheria points out. _Conspicuous_ would’ve been a better choice of word, but Asbel bites his tongue again as he’s learned to do with Cheria at times.

"Really?" Asbel says, glancing down at his clothes, which are today a grey hoodie under his off-white parka, and black sweats tucked into a pair of nice combat boots he'd received from Hubert as a graduation gift.

"I mean, his history major gives us some pointers, but if he were a theater major, this would be so much easier."

"Cheria!" Asbel hisses, garbling out something about inaccurate stereotypes which falls more or less on deaf ears.

"Meanwhile you're sitting over here on an international relations-economics major, which is about as straight as you can get apart from engineering."

"I never knew majors had sexual preferences," Asbel groans.

"You just sort lf pick up on these things after a while," Cheria says simply. "Especially when you have to organize and manage people and plan events. What have _you_ been doing these past few years?"

And Asbel himself doesn't know a decisive answer to that. He feels like the last two years passed in a blur in comparison to the endless drag that was high school. His grades were mediocre but good enough, and he had acquaintances with whom he "hung out" but didn't know the first thing about him. He had kept reminding himself to start anew, turn over a new leaf, but in the rush of moving back and effectively disappearing from his previous campus without forming any lasting relations, he hadn’t bothered to join any clubs or teams, either. “Nothing, okay?” says Asbel, exasperated. “Literally, nothing."

“Unbelievable,” Cheria replies, but with a sympathetic tilt of her head. “Well, Richard may be good for you, then. You really need to make some friends around here.”

“Says the girl who used to hang around me and Hubert when we were little and help us dig up worms and throw them at each other."

“I had a crush on you, you little—“ Cheria says with a huff, and Asbel grins. “What was a girl supposed to do?” Cheria motions for a waiter to come by with extra coffee and points at Asbel’s once again blank notebook. “Now, you have two options here: start getting your shit together and do well in his class and impress him, or purposely fail as an excuse for extra tutoring. If you ask me—“ (which Asbel hadn’t) “—you should go for the former, because _hopefully_ you guys won’t be getting much schoolwork done at your tutoring sessions—”

“ _Cheria_!”

—

Hubert had never gone so far as to draw a line down the center of their shared room, but he’d pretty much implied it, Asbel reminisces miserably as he notices his rejected clothing beginning to seep into Hubert’s half of the room. Asbel assumes it'd be best to look nice for a situation like this, but Cheria disagrees. "If you look different from how you do in class, it'll be too obvious," she says, patting a stack of Asbel's various hoodies and sweats.

"Says the girl who failed to confess for like seven years," Asbel replies, and Cheria punches him lightly.

"Oh, that was only because you're just too unbelievably dense," she says, pouting and looking away. They eventually compromise on a pullover crewneck and a pair of dark wash jeans out of the several that Asbel had packed for himself, assuming that he'd be going out more often rather than holing up in his room every day. His jeans had gone mostly untouched, and his weekly laundry consisted mostly of faded t-shirts and old sweatpants from high school.

Cheria excuses herself a little later to some student council function, and Asbel makes the long trek across the campus to Richard's office, which is located in the Gloandi Conservatory, an old building on the edge of campus that Asbel vaguely remembers passing during the campus tour. The giant green crystal sculpture out front is frustratingly ostentatious, but it makes a good placemarker.

It's silly, Asbel reminds himself, to be nervous for office hours. He reminds himself that he's here for tutoring, as much as Cheria likes to romanticize things and turn his entire life into a modern sitcom. Still, his hand trembles before tapping on the door lightly.

After a pause, Richard's smooth voice emerges from the crack between the door and the doorframe. "Come in," he says, not glancing up until Asbel had closed the door behind him. In Richard's eyes are signs of amused surprise, an expression not unpleasant to Asbel. Asbel averts his gaze and plays with the straps of his backpack. The woven texture is suddenly intensely interesting. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Me neither," Asbel says flimsily. Richard's dressed down compared to what he wears to class; today he's in a black v-neck with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Asbel finds it difficult to concentrate on anything except how the tight fit accentuates Richard's lithe muscles that extend across his shoulders, squared out while slightly hunched over his paperwork. "Although you were the one who invited me," Asbel adds hastily.

"You caught me on a good day," Richard says, looking up again and smiling. Asbel's heart skips a beat. "We haven't had any new papers assigned recently. So it's just you and me for today."

Richard has to be shitting him. There's no mistake that his voice tilts a little lower with an air of amusement hooked onto the end of that sentence. Asbel takes measured steps forward and slides into the chair, pulling it out as far as socially acceptable. He presses his hands between his knees, tempted to swing his feet like a child under Richard’s occasional gaze.

"So, what did you bring to work on?" Richard shuffles his papers into a stack and brushes them aside, clearing a space for Asbel. "Oh, if you need an outlet, there's one by your chair."

Asbel feels insufficiently prepared when all he pulls out of his bag is the same notebook he brings to class every day, and to rub salt in the wound, he can hear Richard's light laugh.

"Do you not own a laptop?"

Asbel flushes. "I just don't find it necessary to bring one to this class," he retorts, and Richard raises an eyebrow.

"Cheeky," he says, "Especially coming from someone who barely pays attention."

"I'll have you know I got a decent grade on the last paper," Asbel says.

Richard smiles. "I know, I graded it."

Asbel jolts back, and Richard laughs again.

"I have it right here, in fact," he says, pulling open the metal cabinet beside him and leafing through some files. "Lhant, Lhant... ah, yes,” Richard says. The fact that Richard has a file on him shouldn’t be surprising to Asbel, but for some unnamable reason, Asbel suddenly feels naked in front of Richard, as if his whole life, memories from his childhood, the sensitive spots on his body that make him squirm and giggle, are recorded in the file. Telling himself that the entire notion is ridiculous does nothing to quell the restlessness in Asbel, though it’s not entirely negative. "From what I recall, your argument was fine, but your style and composition need work. Not the worst I've read, a solid B. But," Richard says, sliding the paper over to Asbel, "if you were a better student, you wouldn't have any reason to come here. And we can't have that now, can we?"

Asbel's eyes skim over the extensive red markings and notes scribbled in the margins of his paper and glances up at Richard, who's _definitely_ staring back at him suggestively this time. "Right," Asbel says. The paper matches exactly what Asbel remembers vaguely having written a few weeks ago, and the additional markings add a dialectical tone to the essay, as if they’re having a mild discussion rather than hammering in a tight argument.

Richard rolls his chair back and taps on the whiteboard where he has a table and some notes written down. “We need to go over the biggest problem first,” Richard says. Richard teaches like he does everything: with enough finesse to rival a charming corporate HR manager. His conversation is stiff if not practiced, though his body language seems fluid and unrestrained, and Asbel wonders at the disparity. Honestly, Asbel hardly remembers the lecturer for this class; Richard's presence shrouds the entire room the few times Asbel attends lecture, and while in office hours with the two of them, Richard actually engages Asbel in the work, explaining the content differently when Asbel doesn't understand.

Asbel finds out that Richard is from this province but has lived in grandour— a high rise apartment in the capital city— for his entire life, where they're both studying now. Richard's parents had both been professors, guaranteeing him basically a full scholarship to their school, but Richard opted to get an undergrad from his dream school across the country before moving back to work on a doctorate at their current university, the endgoal being to follow in his parents' footsteps as a professor. "They're more into politics and the social science fields," Richard says. “I don’t know, I just feel a connection to history, though, like all of it happened just yesterday. I feel like there are a lot of lessons to learn from our mistakes of the past."

"Mm," Asbel says in response. There's something about Richard, even with all his laid back flamboyance, that's undeniably comfortable to Asbel. He never finds himself struggling for what to say or walking on eggshells in conversation with Richard; he's never consciously trying to appease him. Richard guides the conversation onto easy, relatable topics that minimize the roles they play between mentor and student until they're just two friends catching up on old news and complaining about how the coffee in the main dining hall is always slightly burnt. They ebb and flow, each tugging the conversation in a new direction, and Richard humors Asbel just as Asbel falls into step with Richard’s easy dialogue. Richard’s ease of speech is no doubtedly a practiced art, but something about it makes Asbel feel as though he can trust Richard. Maybe it's the elusive trust he feels emanating from Richard toward him as well.

—

“All right, so this is going to be awkward, but I’m asking for a friend,” Asbel blurts out during a lull in the conversation, and he immediately regrets it.

“Hm?” Richard says, and Asbel’s small shard of hope that Richard hadn’t heard him melts in the warm flush spreading to Asbel’s ears. He’s glaring at his notes and looking anywhere but at Richard’s face.

It was partly true anyway; Cheria _had_ told Asbel to ask Richard himself, and Asbel never made a convincing liar, anyway. At this point, Asbel doesn’t care if Richard can see right through him; he’s embarrassed enough already and doesn’t have much to lose. Richard turns from his laptop and raises an eyebrow. Asbel sputters, “Are you gay?"

Richard’s laugh is soft and irritatingly appropriate. “A friend, huh?” he says, his hands leaving the keyboard and coming to rest on the desk between them. Asbel keeps his gaze trained downward and realizes that his ears must be approaching the color of his hair by now, and his knuckles are going white from gripping his pencil so hard. He’s once again barely even written anything down, besides _Problem construction_ , _hypothesis_ , and a few empty bullet points. "Depends why they're asking, I suppose," Richard muses.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Richard smiles and says, "It means I don't have to tell you unless I want to."

Asbel opens his mouth then closes it again. He almost retorts with something impudent, but he remembers all the times he'd been poked, teased, asked uncomfortable questions at half-drunk parties about taking it up the ass or AIDS or asphyxiation (aka kinks that apparently only gay people have). He recalls the way college boys looked at him afterward, a kind of sleazy wariness that does no one any favors. He remembers how things changed in a way not perceivable to most but as obvious as the light of day to Asbel, how he felt like he was living in a slow-burning hell that let his skin char off cell by cell with every ignorant, underhanded remark until he was left as a husk of a person drifting through a life of inexplicable regrets. "Fair enough," he decides to say, and Richard, who was looking at him expectantly, raises his eyebrows.

"Oh?" Richard seems surprised by his reply. His gaze is as gentle as ever but stern, fitting for a teacher.

Asbel shrugs. "I mean, I wouldn't want to tell either, so I can understand how you feel." He blinks, then adds, "I mean. If I were gay. Which. Uh,” Asbel stutters. “I mean."

Richard grins sympathetically, a more sincere smile. "No obligation or anything, Asbel."

Asbel feels himself being torn between melting at hearing his first name slide out of Richard's mouth like it was made for Richard’s voice, and waffling at the way he and Richard share a moment of unspoken understanding. His face goes warm, and he instinctively looks down at his notes again.

"I mean, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious," Richard says after a pause, smoothing over his own notes and surprisingly not meeting Asbel's eye when Asbel looks up. "For a friend, I mean,” he adds.

“Touché,” Asbel replies, crossing his arms.

Richard puts his head in his hand and leans onto the desk. "Though it is awfully forward of me, as your teacher, in a sense."

"No, don't worry about it, I was forward first," Asbel says. "And don't say teacher," he adds with a shudder masked with a scrunched up face. "You're only a year or two older than me."

"I mean, you _are_ here under the assumption that I'm going to teach you something," Richard says. And it's then that Asbel realizes that at this point, it's all underlying meanings and reading between lines that are too jumbled to comprehend. Asbel's never been good at that kind of stuff, preferring himself to be straightforward and to the point. He's picked up a couple pointers on etiquette from Cheria, but manners only go so far, especially when he's dealing with a person who'd be able to bring him to his knees quite literally with a few words. "I pray we don't stray too far off-topic."

Asbel hums in response, and he just catches the glint in Richard's eye as Asbel rests his chin back in his hand, gaze flicking over to the wall.

Then, Richard's hand is on Asbel's jaw.

Asbel tenses, Richard's fingertips burning scars into Asbel's skin, and everywhere he touches seems to go up in flames lit by pent up sexual tension. It takes all of Asbel's self-control not to lean into the touch. Richard tilts Asbel's face back toward his so that Asbel has no choice but to look at him; Richard is gentle but enduring, and the thought of taking Richard's long fingers into his mouth briefly crosses Asbel's mind. "Though I feel like I should be teaching you how to pay attention more than anything else," Richard says lightly with a sigh that flutters across Asbel's nose. Richard's breath is hot when his voice deepens. "What's so distracting that you can't even concentrate in a private session?"

"You," Asbel blurts out, and it's just like Richard to play him like a fiddle. Asbel's voice comes out a high-pitched kind of hoarse. It's just like Richard to get the exact response he's looking for to glide out of Asbel's mouth, being pulled by a sinewy force that's as persistent as it is effortless.

"Oh?" Richard says again, but even Asbel can tell that Richard's not questioning him out of curiosity but moreso a kind of asking permission. Richard absolutely knows Asbel's intentions by now, and they're dancing in a limbo around a blank notebook and empty desk space.

Asbel hears the pages of his notebook crinkle briefly as Richard leans over the desk, and then Richard's kissing him.

Asbel's eyes widen to maximum capacity as his cheeks flush a dark pink. Richard's lips are just resting on his tentatively, and Asbel can't bring himself to move forward, but he doesn't pull away. They're still staring at each other, gauging each other's reactions as Asbel opens his lips slightly to breathe out against Richard's mouth, and Richard takes it as an invitation to bite down lightly on Asbel's lower lip, then lick a stripe across the area he'd bit. Richard's tongue feels like fire on Asbel's lips, and Asbel whines from the back of his throat, finally closing his eyes and leaning forward and wrapping his hands around Richard's neck. "Asbel," Richard murmurs, and Asbel breathes out shakily as he pulls away, and Richard presses their lips together hard one more time before pulling away as well.

"Well," Richard says, and Asbel is still panting. The last time he kissed someone he remembers was in high school, and it was Cheria in a silly game of Truth or Dare, though in hindsight Asbel supposes it wasn't so silly for her. He'd kissed a few people here and there in college, all drunk and sloppy and nothing remarkable, not like Richard's kisses anyway.

"That was unexpected," Asbel finishes, and Richard's back to his composed self, making his way around the desk until they're standing in front of each other face to face, the air between them charged with unspoken desire, potential energy building up like a rubber band pulled taut. And then he's kissing Asbel again, holding Asbel's shoulders, pressing Asbel back into the desk.

"Is this okay?" Richard mumbles against Asbel's lips as his hands roam down Asbel's sides. Asbel arches his back off the desk when Richard's fingertips dance down his torso.

"Yes, of course," Asbel pants, squeezing his eyes shut and reaching blindly forward for Richard's hair. Richard presses his tongue against the seam of Asbel's lips, and Asbel opens his mouth, tongue instinctively flicking out to meet Richard's. Asbel has shivers running through his entire body, jerking when Richard grinds into him and their crotches touch, clothed but still sensitive, and Asbel moans into Richard's mouth.

Richard's hands are slipping into the waistband of Asbel's jeans when a knock at the door jolts them apart. Richard pulls his body back but his fingers are still lingering against Asbel's skin. Asbel's hips roll forward against his own will, and Richard's fingers dig in to his hips in reponse, nearly causing Asbel to slide down the desk as his knees give out underneath him.

"Y—yes?" Richard says after a moment, and Asbel, though still flushed, takes a sliver of pride in the fact that he's rendered Richard at least partially speechless. Richard only draws his hand away as the door begins to move.

A student that Asbel recognizes from their art history class pushes open the door just as Asbel stumbles quickly off the desk, smoothing his clothes down and electing to stare at another interesting pattern in the stitching of his backpack.

"Oh, I was just wondering if we could go over the paper we just got back?" the girl says, glancing back and forth between them. "Did I interrupt something?"

"Not at all," Richard lies smoothly, and Asbel coughs. "Though we only have 15 minutes left of office hours, and I'm currently with another one of your classmates—"

"Oh, um," Asbel says, and his voice comes out a high kind of hoarse. Richard hides a chuckle behind his hand, and Asbel glares at him. "I was just leaving, so," he says, shoving his notebook into his backpack and not bothing to zip it before slinging it over one shoulder. He purposely misses Richard's expression while darting out the door.

—

Asbel realizes later that in the rush of it all, he’d forgotten to ask for Richard’s number. He ignores three missed calls from Cheria and two texts, to one of which he replies, _we made out_ , and he gets a, _Wow TMI_ almost immediately, which he also ignores. The last thing he needs right now is Cheria’s brand of unintentional homophobia, not when his cheeks are still flushed from the outside air (Richard’s breath), and his hands are still trembling from nervousness (Richard’s fingers), and his breath is still short from sprinting all the way back to the bus stop (Richard’s lips).

Asbel sits with his legs crossed on the bus, an arbitrary pop music station on Spotify blaring through his earbuds, and composes an email to Richard’s work address. He wonders which subject title Richard will be more likely to open: _Rembrandt Questions_ or _I want to suck your dick_. Asbel goes with the first with some belated consideration for Richard’s surroundings when he next checks his email. _So are we doing this_ Asbel types out, then deletes it. _Okay so what are we doing_ he tries next, then deletes that as well. _Thanks for today_ , then Asbel deletes that, too, because Richard hadn’t exactly given him anything. Then, he retypes it because Richard _had_ done some tutoring, for lack of better term. And it was the guise, anyway. _Meet me after class on Monday?_ Asbel types, then adds _Can you_ to the beginning, because even with the question mark, it sounds too demanding. All progress Asbel has made on un-flushing his cheeks is lost when he toys briefly with the idea of ordering Richard around in bed.

The concept of it being so sudden and impulsive sends a rush through Asbel’s nerves, and he shivers despite himself. Is this what happens in college? It’s not like Asbel has any friends he’d ask for advice; Cheria is the Honors Student while Hubert is all but a stick in the mud. Irresponsible people have hookups while Morally Superior Students date their peers; some people find partners online while others are introduced by friends. Asbel hasn’t exactly had the most normal university life, but it hasn’t been particularly extraordinary, either.

The rush reaches his fingers, and they shake with the energy to touch, to grab, to feel. Asbel finds that underneath everything, all the winter layers of coats and scarves and repressed emotions and urges, he’s more excited than anything else.

—

Monday is the first day Asbel brings his laptop to class. It’s also one of the first Mondays that Asbel has actually attended. Without the laptop, he’d have nowhere to look except directly at Richard, who isn’t doing the greatest job at ignoring him, either. Asbel ducks behind the cover of his laptop, letting only his eternal bedhead stick out from above the screen. The lecture is another bore and kind of difficult to hear above the pounding in his ears. “Richard, can you find that website for me?” the professor says, and Asbel hears Richard’s name echo through his head. His symptoms are almost feverish in intensity; the only things missing are the stuffed nose and the sneezes and the general unpleasantness of it all.

His classmates seem to move in slow motion as they file out of the classroom when the clock hits 3pm. Richard and the professor share a few words, and Asbel hears Richard’s smooth laugh mixed with a bit of sarcastic Italian before the professor picks up his bag and leaves the door swinging shut behind him.

Richard moves in a blur as he strides up to where Asbel is sitting, and Asbel barely has time to stand up before Richard is tilting his head up for a hard kiss.

They can’t seem to get close enough. Asbel grips the back of Richard’s head with pressure that can’t be comfortable as their lips barely separate before coming back together again and again. “I—thought we—were going to—talk,” Asbel half gasps between kisses as Richard sucks the breath from Asbel’s mouth with each kiss.

“Talk later,” Richard mumbles. His hands grip Asbel’s hips hard again as he walks Asbel to the front of the classroom. Asbel stumbles over chairs and desks in disarray, holding the back of Richard’s neck for dear life. “Besides, you still need more tutoring."

"I'd be doing fantastically, mind you, if my grade weren't being entirely compromised by your existence," Asbel retorts and gasps as Richard's hands pin his shoulders roughly against the wall. Richard is too strong for his slim build. He has the advantage of a good few inches of height on Asbel, but no one should be able to push his flexing shoulder into a whiteboard with that much ease. And it shouldn't feel so _good_ , either.

"I'll keep that in mind while grading your next paper," Richard murmurs, and Asbel can feel his ears going red, Richard's breath ghosting over them and his voice a low timbre with the lilt of amusement characteristic to Richard whenever he spoke, despite his serious demeanor. “You know, I’ve low key wanted you since the beginning of the semester."

Asbel moans at that, wrapping his legs around Richard’s hips, and Richard steps forward, grinding against him and breathing harshly against Asbel’s neck. “Me—too,” Asbel manages, whining when Richard’s hands slide up Asbel’s thighs and around his ass. Richard responds with a groan, muffling it into Asbel’s mouth as he kisses him. Asbel opens his mouth immediately at the invitation this time, and Richard pushes his tongue in, tracing the inside of Asbel's mouth. Their kisses are still hungry, desperate, and hot, and Asbel has no objections to that. They feel like needy kisses between hormonal teenagers rather than two full-grown adults, but they’re the kisses Asbel missed in his teenage years, and he’s grateful he gets to experience them with someone like Richard, who responds to every one of Asbel’s micro-movements with exactly what Asbel wants. Asbel is suddenly overcome with the need to have _more_ of Richard, of that insistent, malleable heat in him. With a whine, Asbel sucks on Richard's tongue, and Richard growls into Asbel's mouth, Richard's grip on Asbel's shoulders tightening significantly.

“Mine,” Richard whispers, and the meaning of the word itself is entirely lost on the fact that they’ve known each other intimately for 3 days, but it's hot nonetheless. Richard is a stereotypically skilled kisser, and Asbel has to wind his fingers into Richard’s hair and tug slightly to get any traction on Richard, who hums in response, relenting slightly so that Asbel’s tongue can trace its way into Richard’s mouth.

Asbel never knew how much of a turn on Richard's back and forth between gentle and rough could be. Richard’s light fingertips hit all the right places between how he claims Asbel by biting down on the junction between Asbel's neck and shoulder and sucking a dark bruise and how his mouth lightly brushes Asbel’s skin at times, barely touching it.

When Asbel breaks away, he's panting for breath and he can feel his lips beginning to swell. He pulls back just far enough to get Richard's entire face in his field of vision, just in time to see Richard give Asbel a quick once-over and lick his lips. God, Richard is hot.

Richard laughs, and Asbel flushes as he realizes he’d just said it out loud. “I’m flattered,” he says. His hoarse voice prompts a small smirk from Asbel. “You’re not too bad yourself."

Asbel’s hands slide from Richard’s hair down to his neck and shoulders, dipping beneath Richard’s open collar and tracing his collarbones. Richard shivers and rolls his hips against Asbel’s slowly, and Asbel lets out a shaky breath, mumbling, "Richard, _please_."

Asbel would be lying if he said he never thought about sex. It wasn't always on the forefront of his mind, but casual thoughts drift in and out on occasion, though admittedly they'd been happening more often since Richard had entered the picture. Asbel masturbates at night or in the shower every once in a while, but the real deal outdoes it by far. The mere uncertainty of it thrills Asbel; he always knows where his own hand is going, but every move Richard makes is both fitting and unexpected, and all the spaces on Asbel, every expanse of his skin, becomes a topic of exploration for Richard's hands.

Asbel clutches Richard to him, unable to do anything but claw at his back and let out noises that sound foreign and lewd to even Asbel himself. "You sound pretty," Richard says lowly, his hand finally ghosting over Asbel's crotch. "Make those sounds for me again." And, as commanded, Asbel gasps as Richard slips his fingers into the front of Asbel's trousers, dancing infuriatingly close to Asbel's cock but not quite touching it.

" _Richard_ ," Asbel whines into Richard's ear, and he can feel Richard's lips curl up into a grin against his neck. Richard slows down when he knows Asbel is anticipating something, and he speeds up when Asbel's too overwhelmed to speak properly, gasping and moaning into Richard's ear. When Richard finally touches Asbel's cock, his fingers tracing it at first, then wrapping around it, Asbel's knees buckle under him, and he's left once again clinging to Richard's neck to support himself. Richard props his knee between Asbel's legs, holding him up and pressing against his crotch to a rhythm as Richard begins pumping Asbel's cock. Asbel chants Richard's name like a manta, his voice steadily rising in pitch.

"You're so beautiful like this," Richard says breathlessly, drawing back to look Asbel up and down again. Asbel feels his cock getting slick as his face flushes, and Richard withdraws his hand for a moment only to shove his fingers into Asbel's mouth unexpectedly. Asbel instantly latches on, his tongue lavishing Richard's fingers with attention, tasting his own precome on Richard. Richard groans and scissors his fingers in Asbel's mouth, and the thought of Richard spreading him open with those same fingers makes Asbel flush.

Asbel can feel the blood pounding in his ears. Richard is half holding him up by the back of his thigh, kneeding the skin there as if comforting Asbel as his fingers thrust roughly in and out of Asbel's mouth. Asbel feels himself getting close just from the stimulation earlier and sucking on Richard's fingers now as Richard watches him with dark eyes. It's hot. Richard has him crowded into the wall, and Richard's presence, his glowing desire mixed with the scent of sex and the breaths rasping between them overwhelms Asbel's senses. Richard pulls his hand out of Asbel's mouth and drags it down his chest (when did his shirt come open?), this time winding it around the back of Asbel's pants.

“I’m—” Asbel says breathily, the knot forming in his lower abdomen becoming tighter as Richard traces Asbel’s entrance. Asbel arches off the wall, moans involuntarily spilling from his lips, to grind their hips together, and Richard pushes back to meet him halfway. “Richard, _Richard_."

Asbel Is so sensitive at this point—his legs shaking, skin on fire, jolts that shoot through his body at random intervals—that just a touch, the gentle but firm pressure of Richard's fingers into Asbel's entrance, sends him over the edge. Asbel’s mouth opens in a broken scream, his vision going white and his legs tightening around Richard’s hips, pulling Richard toward him. Richard teases Asbel through his orgasm, alternating between tracing Asbel's entrance with his finger and pumping Asbel's throbbing cock until Asbel's coming down from the most intense orgasm he's ever had, his chest heaving and his breath coming out as something between moans and overwhelmed sobs and his body wrapping itself around Richard, needing to have him _closer_.

A few seconds is all Asbel needs. Perhaps unintentionally, Asbel feels Richard's cock hard against Asbel's stomach.

Richard is still breathing hard, his head dropped onto Asbel's shoulder, and without warning, Asbel sinks to his knees, partially because his knees are still weak, he still feels sensitive and pliant. Which is, essentially, the perfect time to let someone fuck your mouth, Asbel figures. Richard says, "Asbel, you—"

“Let me do this,” Asbel mumbles, too embarrassed to look up. The clinking of Richard’s belt buckle as Asbel works on it sounds too loud in the silence of the room, and Richard's trousers drop easily around his thin legs.

When Asbel wraps his mouth unceremoniously around the tip of Richard’s cock, Richard looms over Asbel, supporting himself on the whiteboard while tensing his thighs as not to thrust into Asbel’s mouth. Asbel lets Richard’s cock slide slowly into his mouth, hard and heavy against his tongue, and then he does glance up. Richard, leaning on his forearm, is in the motion of bringing one hand down to rest in Asbel’s hair, and he’s staring right at Asbel teeth gritted together in a choked groan.

Richard’s hair is a mess from Asbel running his hands through it, pulling it, tangling it. Asbel is half lost on what exactly to do at this point and still dazed from his orgasm, so he decides to just go with it. He hollows his cheeks and concentrates on sucking and keeping his lips over his teeth and swirling his tongue around Richard’s cock. And apparently it’s working, since Richard starts thrusting shallowly with an offhanded, “Sorry—"

Asbel lets out an exaggerated moan to let Richard know that he’s fine, though most of it goes through his nose as Richard pushes forward and his cock hits the back of Asbel’s throat. Asbel instinctively swallows, his hands shooting up to Richard’s hips and tears pricking the corners of his eyes. Richard pulls back and thrusts again slowly, and they develop a rhythm that’s almost comfortable; Asbel comes forward to meet Richard while holding the base of Richard’s cock with his hand.

“Look at me,” Richard manages to rasp out. His hand traces Asbel’s jawline shakily, and Asbel looks up through his fringe. Richard’s intention goes unsaid from his focused gaze: he wants to see Asbel’s expression as he comes on Asbel’s face. The though of it makes Asbel jerk his hips forward again unexpectedly. Fuck it if he’s not going to come twice barely touched.

Asbel’s free hand shoots down into his own pants, and Richard hums a noise of approval. It cuts off in Richard’s throat as he pulls back suddenly and comes on Asbel’s face, groaning smooth and throaty and so undeniably _Richard_. Most of it hits Asbel’s lips and cheeks, and Asbel moans, flicking his tongue out to lap it up and coax Richard through it. Asbel jerks himself off and comes again weakly shortly after, collapsing onto the ground as Richard sinks down in front of him.

After a minute of heaving gasps, Asbel’s breathing slows, and he leans forward onto Richard’s shoulders and says, “What are we doing?”

Richard laughs quietly. “You make it sound like this is something much more dramatic than it is."

Asbel shrugs and sputters, “I just haven’t started a relationship with sex before, that’s all.” The r-word scares Asbel for a moment. He leans back and his stomach drops as he looks to Richard wildly.

“Something tells me you haven’t started many relationships at all,” Richard says without skipping a beat.

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” Asbel replies with a frown.

Richard slides into his pants and buttons them and scoots forward, peppering light kisses on Asbel’s face. “Let me take you on a date,” Richard says softly, running his hands up and down Asbel’s arms.

A giggle bubbles from Asbel’s throat at the ridiculousness of it all. They’re fucking in an empty classroom, and then in Richard’s office, and then, only afterward, they’re going on coffee dates, blushing and asking each other about their favorite drinks and movies and flavors of ice cream. Richard, seeming to get it, laughs as well. “I’d like to think that months of pent up sexual frustration makes up for the time we didn’t waste introducing ourselves to each other,” Richard says, then adding, “ _Lhant_ ,” cheekily.

Asbel shoves his shoulder with a grin. “ _Professor_ ,” Asbel says, and Richard coughs at that, concealing a sucked in breath. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?"

“You’re a little piece of shit,” Richard breathes out as he stands up. “So, how do you feel about Thai food?"


End file.
